"Hmm-hmm. They got ye good."
"…Nn…!"
Kimberly's first-floor infirmary, the domain of the school physician, Gisela
Zonneveld. A man lay on her operating table, writhing in agony—the student
body president, Alvin Godfrey.
"Slipshod, Godfrey. Won't end up like this 'less ye leave yourself wide open."
"…Fair point…"
As he gasped an answer, Dr. Zonneveld roughly probed his chest cavity like a
short-order cook in a greasy diner. She had a habit of making her patients feel
like so much meat on a slab. Kimberly students were known for learning healing
magic faster than average, mainly because nobody wanted to end up in the
school infirmary.
"The flesh—well, the bone's gone, but that's nary a concern. But your ether,
you cannae leave that unguarded. Deformatio."
She pulled her hand, dripping with blood, out of him; the athame in her other
hand was pointed at a white stone as she chanted a spell that altered it into the
shape of a bone—the exact shape of the sternum Godfrey had lost.
"I'm planting a fake 'un for you. You're a regular here, boyo. Ye get my drift,
yeah?"
That was a warning to brace himself. The man gritted his teeth. He'd been
here several times a year, every year. He knew how this doctor worked—like
how she almost never used anesthetic.
"…Any time."
So his answer was in full knowledge of that. Dr. Zonneveld grinned and took a
tight grip on the fake bone.
"Good answer. Scream all ye like, but don't bite your tongue!"
She slammed the bone into the wound, and it snapped into place. A literal
bone-shaking blow. Godfrey did his level best to stifle the scream trying to tear
its way out of his throat.
The treatment over with, Dr. Zonneveld sat at the window, smoking. There
was a knock at the door, and several students came in—at the fore, Lesedi
Ingwe, a veteran member of the Watch.
"Dr. Zonneveld, how's Godfrey doing?"
The doctor didn't even turn around, just blew a puff of smoke out the
window.
"…Made a new bone, slotted it in," she answered matter-of-factly through the
smoke. "The ether wound is not so easily healed. Not that large a tear, so it can
be fixed, but expect it to take two months."
Every face turned grim. With elections looming, that was far too long. Worse
yet, the combat league was ongoing.
"While the ether body's damaged, ye cannae escape disruptions in mana
manipulation. This fella'll be up and about in days, but in a fight, he'll be
useless. Kah-ha-ha-ha! Yer up shit's creek, fraid."
"There's no way to speed it along?" Lesedi asked, ignoring the bait.
This got the doctor to spin around and point her cigarette at the Watch
members.
"There is, and you know it. Get the bone back. The ether's stuck on it. If I have
that, won't take me even five minutes."
Lesedi nodded. The doctor here knew no kindness, but she never once
embellished a patient's condition. If she said she could fix it, she would. If she
said she couldn't, she couldn't. If she said they were dead, they'd die. And thus
—if she claimed she could fix Godfrey's ether in five minutes, the only option
was to bring her the missing bone.
"Very well. Gimme a few days." With that, Lesedi turned on her heel and led
her company out. On her way down the hall, she spat, "Urgent summons."
"…That…sure was a turnup…," Katie whispered.
The common room was abuzz with chatter about the match, including Katie,
who recalled the cause of said turnup.
Across the table, Guy folded his arms, groaning. "They hauled Godfrey
straight to the infirmary after the prelim. Is he gonna be okay?"
"…We can't be sure. But it's hardly a minor injury."
"If his recovery's prolonged, it'll affect the election as well as the league. I do
hope I'm fretting over nothing, yet…"
Chela trailed off, taking a sip of tea. As a silence settled over them…a voice
came from below.
"Um…I hate to interrupt the gloom, but…Oliver? Nanao?"
"Yes, Leik?"
"Speak, Yuri."
"Why am I being restrained?"
Oliver and Nanao were on either side of him, holding him firmly in place. He
was facedown with both their hands on his shoulders.
"Because if we release you, you'll go rushing into the labyrinth," Oliver
replied. "Don't be so hasty. The plan to meet Rivermoore on campus might be a
bust, but I'm working on an alternative."
"Okay, I can wait. I promise! So I'd really appreciate you letting me go. This
floor is quite hard and rather cold."
"Ah! Yuri, squirm like that and your shoulder may dislocate."
"I'm well aware of your strength, Nanao! I feel it in my creaking joints!"
Oliver ignored Yuri's protestations, his mind racing. They were waiting for the
upperclassmen's move. The ambush on President Godfrey had been a shock to
everyone, but that had made Cyrus Rivermoore the enemy of the Watch—the
current student council. Reprisals were a given. And he planned to keep Yuri
down until those plans were announced.
His prediction was proven right mere minutes later. Bird familiars came in
through the window, dropping letters on the students in the room—including
their table.
"Oh—!"
"What's this?"
Each student received one, and a seventh letter was left to flutter slowly
down to Yuri's head. Oliver glanced around and saw Stacy and Fay opening
letters of their own.
Peering at the contents, Chela frowned.
"Attendance requested by the Watch. But including third-years?"
"…We'll have to go and see what's up," said Oliver.
"Indeed! I shall haul Yuri along."
"I can walk! I have feet of my own!"
They arrived at the classroom specified and found quite a crowd already
gathered. Glancing around the faces assembled, Oliver and Chela soon spotted
a trend.
"…Combat-league participants?"
"Looks like we're the core, yes. I don't see Rick's team, so they didn't call in
everybody."
"Oh, they brought you in, too, Team Horn?"
As they stepped in, a voice called out from the corner. A boy in regulation
uniform, very studious-looking—it took Oliver a second, but then he placed the
distinct nose.
"…Mr. Mistral. Sorry, but you gave a rather different impression during the
match."
"Can't keep myself that amped up all the time, can I? I'm more the bookworm
type, really."
"…Come to think of it, I have seen you in the library," Pete said, squinting at
him.
"Mr. Reston, yes?" Mistral shrugged. "I know you read fast, but you gotta stop
hauling a pile of twenty or thirty books to your table. Those specialty
magineering texts in particular! If there's a volume missing in the middle, I
pretty much always find it in your pile."
"Oh…s-sorry, I'll try and reshelve more often."
"Thanks. Books are a shared asset."
Fresh off that sensible advice, Mistral turned his attention elsewhere. He
hadn't been trying to start stuff but was merely saying hi to some familiar faces.
This caught Oliver off guard until another student approached.
"I anticipated your presence here."
A female student, eyes hidden behind her bangs, flanked by two companions.
Unlike Mistral, she was unmistakable.
"Ms. Ames…," Oliver said, turning to face her.
"A pleasure, Mr. Horn."
A well-mannered greeting. He considered this for a moment and elected to
voice a complaint.
"…The match wound up being a fine experience, but three-on-one was
certainly nerve-racking. Whether team or individual, I hope we next fight oneon-one."
"If you desire it, gladly. I no longer have anything to hide from you."
There was a hint of self-deprecation in her smile. Oliver was well aware she
was referring to the power move she'd pulled at the end of their duel. While he
debated how to respond, the girls on either side of Ames pounced.
"Hey, hey, hey—don't get cocky, Mr. Horn. We all know that win was a fluke."
"Damn straight! Next time, our Jaz is gonna take you down."
The rest of Team Ames clearly held a grudge. Oliver was left even more at a
loss, but Nanao folded her arms, looking serious.
"Mm, indeed. Had her companions been as formidable as Ames herself, our
victory would have been in doubt."
""Gah!""
The Azian girl meant no insult by this, but it eviscerated both lackeys like a
naginata strike. They staggered backward. Ames sighed and stepped out from
their shadow.
"Calm yourselves, ladies. I apologize on my companions' behalf. I'm afraid I
have been too soft on them in the past."
"Aughhhh…"
"Sorry, Jaz! Sorry we're so weak!"
Tears in their eyes, each companion clung to one of Ames's sleeves. Oliver
was starting to find their antics…heartwarming. They'd clearly been together
awhile. These two were a bit deferential, which likely reflected their families'
relationships with Ames's.
Ames patted both their heads, then faced forward again.
"Oh, and…Mr. Horn, Mr. Leik—and if possible, Mr. Reston. What would you
say to sharing a private meal with me in the near future?"
"? I wouldn't mind, but…you mean to go over the match?"
Oliver wasn't sure what to make of this invitation. But beneath her bangs, a
smile played on Ames's lips.
"That excuse suits me well. My family is old but of little fame. It is high time I
started laying the groundwork for marriage."
The last word made the air freeze instantly. Oliver quickly stepped between
her and Pete.
"Y-you may do as you like with Leik, but not Pete."
"…I mean, I wasn't going to accept, but why are you turning her down for
me?"
"It's too soon for you!"
"Again, who asked you?"
Pete's protests hit him in the back, but Oliver refused to budge. A puff of air
escaped Ames's nostrils.
"Apologies. Perhaps that was too aggressive. I shall reissue the invite at a later
occasion."
Backing off, she turned to go. Her companions followed, hissing, "We never
forget!" "Watch yourself on a moonless night!" Oliver and his group were left
feeling rather bowled over.
"…That escalated quickly," Guy said. "But I guess it's about that time, huh?
Next year, we'll all be in the upper forms."
"…Hmph…"
He seemed to take things in stride, but there was a small grumble from the
curly-haired girl next to him. He glanced down and found her cheeks puffed up.
"? What're you sulking about, Katie? No one's going anywhere."
"…She didn't mention your name, Guy."
"Huh? Ah, right, she didn't. Guess I didn't meet her standards, sadly."
"Oh, so you did want her after you!"
"I didn't say that! What are you actually mad about?"
Katie's intense badgering left Guy backing away, and Chela was forced to
intervene.
"Hold that bickering for now—they're about to start."
They followed her gaze and saw an upperclassman at the podium. Everyone
quickly took their seats. Eyes like daggers, the dark-skinned Watch veteran
scanned the faces of the assembled third-years and began speaking.
"Lesedi Ingwe, seventh-year. Godfrey's recuperating, so until he's up and
about, I'm proxy president. I imagine many of you are confused by the
unexpected invite, but let me first thank you for coming."
Her gratitude didn't ease their tension at all.
"If it helps settle your nerves, the Watch won't be forcing you to do anything.
This is simply a request for aid. But to be clear, it's an extremely urgent one.
The matter affects every student at Kimberly. And since you're all backing
Godfrey, this isn't someone else's problem."
Whatever this was about, it seemed they had a right to refuse. That itself was
a comfort, and they settled in to hear her out.
"Let me start from the top. You all know how Godfrey sustained his injury.
The wound itself will heal over time, but the recovery will take a long while.
That's less than good. His term may be almost over, but he's still got work to
do."
She didn't need to explain what that work entailed. Everyone here knew. One
look at Kimberly's history told you the combat-league victor's speech had huge
pull with voters, and with the race as close as this one, that alone could decide
the outcome. If he wanted the next president to be his successor, Godfrey had
to win the league. And his supporters needed that to happen.
"There's only one way to heal his wound faster: steal the bone back from
Cyrus Rivermoore. Which takes me to why we've called you here."
The name she dropped made everyone tense up again. A student in one
corner called out, "You want us to help recover the bone?"
"Exactly. I'm sure you've worked it out by now, but there were two factors
that got you an invite here. First, you're all Godfrey supporters. And second,
you've all made it to the main round of the combat league. In other words,
you're officially the best fighters in the third year. Bluntly speaking, we think
you're capable of holding your own in a labyrinth fight."
Oliver had figured as much. Andrews's team was absent because they didn't
meet the first requirement, and the second-year teams had simply been
deemed not strong enough.
As it started adding up, Ames raised her hand.
"…That is an honor, but may I ask why you've gone with underclassmen
against a force of Rivermoore's level? This seems like a concern that would
normally be handled by the Watch alone, or at least be kept to the upper
forms."
"You're hitting us where it hurts, but the answer's pretty simple. We're trying
to avoid the upperclassmen directly clashing over Godfrey's bone. Not mincing
words here—if that happens, people will die. We're gonna have the bulk of the
older students stay on campus, indicating they ain't part of the search—which
also warns the other side's upperclassmen off labyrinth delving themselves.
This idea is to avoid an all-out war neither side desires. And they've shaken on
that deal." She went on. "Plus, with the election in full swing, we've gotta be on
guard against unexpected 'accidents' before the match date. That's an
additional duty on top of what the Watch usually handles—which means we've
got limited staff to put on the bone search."
By "accidents," she clearly meant sabotage by the old student council. A
shiver ran down Oliver's spine when he imagined the titanic struggle raging just
out of sight even as they spoke. He couldn't help but remember that mess in
the broom league last year.
"So we're committing minimal older students to the search. Given the scope
of the area we need to cover, they alone may not get anywhere. That's where
you come in. With me so far?"
Lesedi broke off, scanning the room. When no one asked a question, she got
down to brass tacks.
"Obviously, not enough information to commit. So let me expand.
"First, while I said you're capable of holding your own, that doesn't mean we
expect you to go up against Rivermoore himself. That would be insane. What
we want from you is help covering more ground and the pressure on
Rivermoore that causes. You've been through the team battles, so I'm sure you
catch my drift."
If you wanted to corner your prey, numbers were a big advantage. Oliver's
team had learned that the hard way when all three teams came after them, but
everyone here was well aware. The third-years stood no chance going up
against Cyrus Rivermoore themselves, but that meant they could stick to
surveillance and support and do a lot to improve the search's efficacy.
"And we won't be sending you down there on your own. We'll be running
four-man cells, and each of those will have an upperclassman to supervise. Who
that is may change day by day, but assume you'll mostly be operating with your
combat-league team plus one of us. That keeps the risk to a minimum, and if
shit does go south, the upperclassman'll bear the brunt while you guys get
outta there."
So each three-person team was effectively going to be treated as one real
asset. Oliver felt that showed some real discretion on the Watch's part. No
matter how up against the wall they were here, they weren't about to stick the
younger students in harm's way. A core belief underpinning Lesedi's whole
speech.
"We'll start tomorrow night and go as long as three weeks. We have, of
course, narrowed down the search perimeter—namely, where in the labyrinth
Rivermoore is hiding. But to prevent outside interference, we're not disclosing
that information until you've indicated your participation. Assume threat levels
equivalent to the third and fourth layers and more undead than magical beasts.
That's about all I'll say here. If you're scared of spooky stuff, best to drop out
now."
Lesedi flashed them a grin. But she was only half joking—this was also a test.
She was seeing if the kids here were ready to go up against the undead. That
required less fighting technique than it did mental stability—if your mind was
made of Swiss cheese, they'd get their fingers stuck in it. Get possessed or
driven mad, and you could well prove a greater threat than the undead
themselves.
The third-years were forced to weigh the threat levels against their own
strengths.
Scowling, Mistral muttered, "Given what we're up against…I'd love to say the
reward ain't worth the risk. But the times being what they are…we're the ones
in trouble if the president stays down."
"We should help, not quibble," Stacy chimed in. "Unless we want Kimberly to
be even worse next year."
She was a Cornwallis, an old family of some repute—but also a child of the
main family branch, the McFarlanes. That left her following Chela's lead here
and supporting Godfrey.
"I appreciate that sentiment," Lesedi said, smiling. "But don't worry about the
reward. You aren't Watch members, and we'd have a lot of nerve asking you to
risk your lives without any payment. Besides, this is Kimberly. The idea of asking
mages to help based on goodwill and sound morals ain't just futile, it's legit
disturbing."
She made a show of shuddering, then leaned forward.
"Five hundred thousand advance each, another on success. Godfrey's team
wins the league, we'll put another five hundred thousand belc on top of that.
Still ain't squat compared to the league prizes, but it's a heck of a lot better
than your allowance. Plus—while the operation's in effect, you'll get firsthand
instruction from your upperclassman supervisor. To some of you, that might be
worth more than gold."
A murmur went through the room. Even if the search failed to pay off and
they were left with only the advance, that was pretty good pay for three weeks'
work.
"…No take backs?" a member of Team Mistral asked.
"None."
Lesedi followed that with a spell. A number of purses flew from the sack at
her seat, scattering around the room and dropping before each student with
the distinctive sound of metal against metal. They opened them up and found
heaps of coins inside.
"If you're in, keep it. If you're not, leave it. If you need time, swing by the
Campus Watch Headquarters when you've made up your minds. I swear by
Godfrey's and the Watch's names, there will be no penalties for refusing. That
is, if the Watch even exists next year."
Lesedi put her wand back on her hip. The purses in everyone's hands carried
far more weight than the coins within.
"One last thing to help you decide. We've got a lot of experience with these
situations, and it's our belief that Cyrus Rivermoore has not been consumed by
the spell. There's not even any indication he might be on the brink of it. He is
now and will be in full possession of his faculties. Up to you what you make of
that. A mad beast and a rational one each pose a threat, and the discrepancy is
not easily measured. And our goal is to back that beast into a corner."
She clearly had no intention of hiding the dangers here. Oliver thought that
was indicative of the Watch's sincerity, but they were also honest to a fault.
Candor could often work against you in the hellscape of Kimberly. And their
opposition—Percival Whalley—had frequently slammed them for it.
"..."
But to his mind, this was why he believed their ambitions worth preserving.
For that reason, he took the purse and stuffed it in his pocket. His eyes met
Lesedi's, and she grinned.
"One question!" Yuri said, pocketing his own purse.
Lesedi turned toward him. "Yes, Mr. Leik?"
"I've been looking into this, and I believe that over the years, Rivermoore has
gathered enough bones to form a complete human body. With that in mind—do
you have any theories as to what drives him? Or what his purpose is?"
That certainly sent a stir around the room. Even Lesedi frowned.
"First I've heard of it. What's the basis of your assumption?"
"I went through the Watch records on students Rivermoore's attacked and,
wherever possible, spoke to the student involved. I made a list of the bones
they lost and found not a single duplicate. Here's the specifics."
Yuri pulled a wad of paper out of his pocket and, with a wave of his wand,
sent it to the podium. Lesedi caught it, and as her eyes scanned the list, her
expression turned grim.
"…Slipped right under our noses, huh?" she muttered. "Stealing bones was
just what he did, and we never even thought to question it. Much less notice
something this obviously systematic."
She tapped her knuckles against her temple. Once she'd finished reading, she
looked up at Yuri.
"We'll go over this data in detail and task reliable necromancers with
analyzing it. I'll have to answer your question later, Mr. Leik, but I appreciate
your bringing this to our attention. I'm genuinely impressed you managed to get
this many to talk."
"I was very persistent. Eight of them tried to kill me."
"You're thick-skinned!" She flashed him a smile. "Join the Watch once this is
all over. We'll work you to the bone."
With that, she turned to the rest of the room.
"Unexpected intel aside, that's all we've got to say here. The operation details
will be shared later on, exclusively with those who decide to join in. For that
reason, I'm requesting your answers no later than noon tomorrow. Even if you
accepted the reward on the spot, should you change your mind before then,
feel free to return it. No one will mock or accost you for it. Be sure you're
making the right decision."
Outside the classroom, the Sword Roses headed to the Fellowship for dinner.
They found Miligan there, campaigning. Her stump speech over, she joined
their table, and when they mentioned the search for Rivermoore, she bounded
to her feet.
"Aha! That calls for me!" she cried.
Another girl swiftly put her in a full nelson—Lynette Cornwallis. The
relationship they'd formed dealing with Salvadori had proved lasting, and she
was now instrumental to Miligan's campaign.
"Are you nuts? You're running for president! You've already got a target on
your back! I'm not letting you delve into the labyrinth at all, much less waste
your time dealing with anything not directly campaign-related! Or do you want
to find yourself face-to-face with Echevalria himself?!"
"Please! I want to teach these children! Hone their skills, make them strong,
stomp the competition in the finals! Then feast my eyes on the look on Mr.
Whalley's face!"
"Y-you don't even try to disguise it! You get just one taste of teaching and…
Stace! Help! I've gotta drag this dumbass outta here!"
"Very well. Chela, I'll be right back."
"I'll help."
Stacy and Fay pitched in, and the Snake-Eyed Witch was dragged out of the
room, kicking and screaming.
Watching them go, Guy muttered, "…Yeah, that was never happening. Can't
have her along."
"Unfortunately, no." Oliver agreed. "The whole operation is about ensuring a
Watch candidate wins, so we can't very well expose that candidate to any real
danger."
Pete leaned in. "Forget the upperclassmen—what about us? Are we in?"
Everyone exchanged glances. Oliver had already made up his mind, so he
spoke first.
"…I've accepted the reward already, so I certainly intend to. Even without the
election factor, I owe Godfrey a few favors. It's a good chance to pay those
back."
"I just wanna meet Rivermoore, so obviously I'm in," Yuri added.
"An earnest request from our honored predecessors. No true warrior would
refuse, nor shall I."
Nanao showed no hesitation, so Pete turned his gaze to Chela, who nodded.
"Stace is in, so I am, too. I'm sure Mr. Willock will join us."
"So both your teams are all in," Guy said, focusing. "Guess we'll have to make
up our minds, then."
Pete turned to him, and Katie folded her arms, thinking.
"I do want President Godfrey recovering soon…but are we actually up to the
task? We're not gonna be in the way or anything? I mean, we made it to the
main round, but we're hardly on the same level as Oliver and Nanao…"
"We don't need to be," Pete said. "Ms. Ingwe said they don't need us to fight;
they need us to widen the ground they cover. If we weren't good enough,
they'd never have brought us in. Personally, I'd like to go. That half a million
belc alone is highly tempting, and I'm curious what we can learn from them."
Everything he said made sense to Katie, but she didn't seem quite ready to
commit.
Guy put his hands on her shoulders. "All right, then, we're in," he said.
Surprised, Katie turned to look at him.
"Wh-what? We're just settling it that easily? Pete and I are always hard up,
but you're fine on cash! No need to make us drag you into— Eek!"
Rather than let her finish, he'd stuck his hand into her hair and was busy
messing it up. As she struggled, he made a face.
"Why would I not want money? Always nice to have. And that settles it!"
"What's that got to do with my hair?!"
"You had it coming."
With that, he finally let go of her head, and she huffily started straightening it
back out.
Watching this with a smile, Oliver put a hand to his chin.
"My concern is how the old council will act. I can't imagine they'll sit idly by,
but they're likely just as shorthanded. If our side is calling in the third-years,
then right about now…"
"Thus, the plan is to locate Rivermoore and steal Godfrey's bone before the
Watch can. Any questions?"
In a classroom on the third floor—not the one the Watch had used—Leoncio
Echevalria was running a meeting with much the same goal. The students
before him were also primarily third-years who had qualified for the main
league: all teams Lesedi had left off her list because she knew they were
backing his camp. Among them were Team Liebert, who'd traded blows with
Team Horn, and Team Andrews, who'd steamrolled over Team Aalto.
Once Leoncio had completed his rundown of the request, a third-year at the
back hesitantly raised his hand.
"One question…is participation mandatory?"
"We're only asking for voluntary cooperation. Though I hardly think refusing
would be wise."
"Then I am out," Rossi said. He had his legs up on a front-row desk, his tone as
dismissive as his posture. "This election 'as no relevancy to my life. 'andle your
own mess in the background; I do not care."
Everyone else fidgeted uncomfortably, but Leoncio just grinned.
"Suit yourself. But what about your teammates?"
He glanced to the boys on either side of Rossi. The larger one—Joseph
Albright—spoke up, his voice tinged with resignation.
"…I'm in. Can't ignore a request from an Echevalria."
"Spoken like a true Albright." Leoncio smirked. "You know your place better
than that stray dog."
He'd known full well Albright had no choice in the matter. They both came
from old conservative clans, and their families were closely linked, working
together in any number of fields. Joseph Albright was in no position to do
anything that could jeopardize that relationship.
Leoncio stepped down from the podium, advancing slowly on the audience.
He stopped beside the third row.
"What about you, Mr. Andrews? Yours is an old family—will you happily lend
a hand or waste your time howling?"
There was a brief silence.
"…I'll help," Andrews said at last. "But only until the main round of the senior
leagues is done. From that point on, success or not, I'll pull out to focus on our
final match. My teammates with me."
He demonstrated cooperative intent while also drawing a clear line. Leoncio's
grin broadened; he clearly approved.
"Settled on baring your fangs, mm? That shows promise."
With that, he lost interest, returning his gaze to Rossi. Even the back of the
Ytallian's head looked annoyed.
"Two have shown their mettle. I ask you once more, Mr. Rossi. Will you tuck
your tail between your legs and cower off alone?"
The click of a tongue echoed. With his team on board, Rossi's objections
meant little. Joining in and helping the search end early would likely be more
productive. He knew that, and he could not let the taunt stand, so he spat,
"Fine! 'ave it your way. On one condition: Whatever supervisor you stick us with
—let it not be you."
"That is a shame," Leoncio muttered, moving back to the podium. "I'd have
loved to tame you."
A shiver ran down Rossi's spine, and he quietly stood up before moving to a
seat in the back row.
His recruitment complete, Leoncio left the classroom. In the hall, a figure
slipped up behind him. A pale hand upon his shoulder, whispers in his ear.
"An unexpected windfall, giving you an advantage. I imagine the chortles
never cease."
An elf's angular features and a sinister smile.
Yet, Leoncio's palm slammed into the wall, cracks spreading like a spiderweb.
"…Like picking up a trophy that's fallen from the shelf. What could be more
tedious?"
"Haaa-ha. Let's dig a little deeper, shall we? Why are you so cross? If
Rivermoore had come for you, we'd be the ones in trouble—is that what you're
thinking?"
"No," Leoncio snapped. "Even caught off guard in those circumstances, I
would not have allowed him to snatch my bone. Ordinarily, Godfrey would not
have, either."
Khiirgi considered this a moment, then clapped her hands together.
"Oh! I see… I get it! This is what you're thinking—Godfrey failed to escape the
ambush because his mind was on protecting everyone there. You included."
No sooner had this left her mouth than Leoncio's hand disappeared. Athame
drawn too fast for the eye to see, it was piercing her robe, pressed against her
shoulder.
"Watch your mouth, Alp. I'm not in the best mood, and you may find yourself
down an arm because of it."
"Go ahead," she purred, intoxicated. "What's an arm or two when I can see
that look on your face?"
Realizing his emotions were only giving her pleasure, Leoncio's expression
vanished, and his blade returned to its scabbard. Khiirgi let out a disconsolate
moan, then put her hand on his shoulder again.
"It may not sit right with you, but the fact that you won't let that take
precedence over electoral victory is laudable. Prevent Godfrey's restoration,
win the league, and that will secure Percy's victory. You're good with that?"
"It need not be said." His voice was calm again. "I'm placing you in charge of
our labyrinth efforts. For now, feel free to forget the league altogether. If
Godfrey's not in play, Gino and I can handle the other two."
His rivalry with Godfrey might have been a fixation, but if he could use this to
influence the election, he would not hesitate. These background schemes were
Leoncio Echevalria's bread and butter. If he could win before the match began,
that simply meant Godfrey had not been a worthy opponent. Tamping down
the emotions born from that idea, he focused on the issue at hand.
"If it's as easy as getting the bone first, splendid. If Rivermoore's resistance
makes that impossible, then run interference on the Watch—do your best to
keep it indirect. If we're too blatant about it, that could lose us votes and reflect
poorly on Percy's character."
"I'm well aware. We're simply recovering Godfrey's stolen bone on his behalf.
And it just so happens that'll result in it getting back to him a tad later."
Khiirgi's rationale was so transparent, it made him snort. As of yet, Godfrey's
backers hadn't wavered. The way he'd fought against Vanessa Aldiss was every
bit as imposing as his title; for now, the students were more inclined to criticize
Rivermoore for the cowardly backstabbing. But if Leoncio's side recovered the
bone first, that might change. That would suggest the Watch without Godfrey
lacked real leadership—and would prove the strength of the new council a vote
for Percival Whalley would ensure.
"The election's drawing to a close. I won't forbid you your enthusiasms, but
don't lose track of our priorities. Bring Percy back some good news, Khiirgi. No
matter how out of character that is."
There was an unprecedented weight behind this order. Khiirgi's lips curled like
a scimitar—and her figure vanished like mist.